She Will Be Loved
by Phantom452
Summary: John knew all too well the meaning of sacrifice, especially when it came to his best friend. A tale that was inspired by Maroon 5 - She Will Be Loved. Modern A/U.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

****This is a Modern A/U between a Male Shepard and Miranda that was inspired by _Maroon 5 - She will be Loved. _**This was something that came to me and I just had to get it written down. It currently is a stand alone piece, although it has great potential in evolving into a full fledged story, however, given that I am currently working on Ghost of Me, this will take the back seat. Although, if I get enough demand, I may consider working on both. **

**Please read and review and let me know your thoughts. Thanks!**

* * *

**She Will Be Loved**

_Tap. Tap. _

The sudden noise startled John into a more alert state, making him groan as he realized what it meant. Groggily, he glanced at his bedside clock. The blue illuminating digits signaled the late or early hour – depending on how you interpreted it. For John, it was definitely late. 3:30 in the morning late. Especially for someone that had just gotten home and slugged off into bed no more than a half hour ago.

_Tap. Tap. _

The noise persisted once more. He's sensible half demanded he ignore it and enjoy his wondrous bed that he had not seen for nearly 24 hours, but he's other half thrilled at the implications. He idly weighed his options. If he got up now, he wouldn't have to face the repercussions of ignoring the sound. If he didn't, he would have a more restful mind to guard and protect himself _when_ the repercussions occur. Hmm, it seemed no matter which way, he was going to have to face her sooner or later. He lazily wondered why he was even debating with himself: he always got up when that noise sounded.

_**Tap. Tap.**_

The noise increased in volume and urgency. Fantastic. He begrudgingly thought. Now, he was going to have to endure an annoyed lecture now. Groaning, he snapped his bed covers off of his half naked body. His body chilled momentarily as the coldness of the room reached him. Shaking off the shiver, John sleepily padded over to his balcony window and slid it open for his late night guest. He automatically moved to the right as a sudden, agitated blur stampeded inside.

"Can you believe this?" His guest exclaimed in frustration as she stormed in.

"Come in." John tiredly yawned out to his screen door before sliding it shut.

"It's already been five days and that woman is trying to control everything!" John's brunette guest snarled out as she began pacing back and forth in his bedroom. "And why didn't you answer me?! Do you know how bloody cold it is tonight?" The woman demanded as her aggravation targeted him.

"Hi, Miri." John mumbled as he stumbled back to bed. He really didn't have the energy to disagree with her tonight. "What's up?" He yawned out before lightly shaking his head to invigorate himself more fully. These late night visits from Miranda were not meant to be taken lightly.

"Virginia! She wants the bloody thing to be in Virginia." Miranda continued to seethe as she paced back and forth in front of John.

John squinted into the dark, trying to follow her darkened outline. Miranda was clearly angered; her fists were clenched in defiance and the raw emotion of it was streaming off of her in waves. In his sleepy state, he was still unsure on what exactly she was talking about. It usually was this way. So the only thing he could do was latch onto some piece of information she had said and turn it into an appropriate question so that his mind could catch up to what she was talking about.

"What's wrong with Virginia?" John asked.

Miranda stopped dead in her pacing and glared at him; John instantly realized that was the wrong question to ask.

"What's wrong? _What's wrong?_" John could have sworn he saw heat steaming out of her ears, but blamed his tired state of mind for its rampant imagination. "_EVERYTHING!_" Miranda nearly shouted. "Why the bloody hell do I want to have the wedding in Virginia?"

Ah. The subject finally clicked in John's brain. The wedding. Miranda's wedding. He sighed, feeling suddenly very tired about everything. He really did not want to talk about this, but as he watched Miranda fume, he relented to comfort her as he noticed the insecurity and vulnerability in her eyes; he couldn't help it – he never could.

"Isn't most of the guests from Virginia? It makes sense to go there." John attempted to reason with his best friend before she imploded from stress.

Miranda unleashed a very unladylike snort and followed it up with _the _glare. "I am not going to inconvenience _my_ friends for one woman's request!"

John scratched the back of his neck, trying to figure out another tactic to work with Miranda. After all, she had given him _that_ glare and as always, he could read her expressions like a book. She had many glares in her arsenal and John had become finely attune to each and every one of them over the many, many, years they had known each other. After all, he was her best friend.

In any case, he had just received the glare that demanded the presence of John-my-best-friend-in-the-whole-universe-that-loves-me-to-death-and-beyond-so-you-better-side-with-me-or-face-my-wrath, not the presence of John-my-best-friend-in-the-whole-universe-that-loves-me-but-seriously-needs-to-be-my-rational-half-since-mine-decided-to-vacate-the-premises.

And as such, John was forced to keep his sensible opinion to himself and agree with everything she practically said until she herself returned to reason and logic. That meant he had to resist the retort of spouting out that that one woman that was hell-bent on having the wedding in Virginia was going to be her future mother-in-law, so it was best to placate her to her every whim. Instead, he was forced into silence as he Miranda returned to her venting.

"Do you realize how _far_ Virginia is? How much our friends are going to have to pay to attend? Or how much the room and board will cost? And all this because the woman's family – which I have never met, nor has Jacob seen since he was practically three – wish to attend?" She growled out in exasperation at the entire notion.

"You might as well say that you want the wedding in Australia." John threw out, even though he knew that the comment was completely irrational. Miranda hadn't been back in Australia for nearly a decade and she hated that God-awful place due to her father. Not to mention, as well, the little fact that Virginia was about a three hour drive from where they lived. He opted to refrain from mentioning any of those reasons.

"Precisely!" Miranda threw up her hands in frustration. "She's barking mad! And Jacob is no help!" Her demeanor tensed further at the mention of her fiancée and she continued to trail a line in John's bedroom floor.

Ugh. Jacob. John forced his face to remain neutral at the sound of the man's name, but he could not help the honest opinion he had for said man to slip out. "He's an idiot." He gruffed out in his sleepy voice.

"Yes! A complete idiot!" Miranda snapped in agreement even though John knew she didn't mean it. John mentally groaned. Despite his own reservations against the guy, John knew better than to ostracize him; he apparently made Miranda happy and that was what really mattered to John; Miranda's happiness.

"Have you talked to him about this?" John slurred out, resisting the urge to rub his sleepy eyes.

"I have! He agrees completely with his mother and stated that _I'm_ being unreasonable! I told him in the beginning that I wanted it small! I did not want a guest list of 400 people!"

"I know. You'll like it small, just your close friends and Oriana." John mused aloud. He also knew that Miranda much prefer a quiet ceremony instead of the lavish ordeal that Jacob and his mother had made it become.

"Exactly! I compromised the guest list because he wanted it! And he won't even budge an inch on having the wedding here!" She ground her teeth and John disregarded his urge to hug her; she wouldn't exactly appreciate that in the middle of her rant. She suddenly stopped her pacing and turned to face him. "Do _you_ think I'm being unreasonable?" She asked in a more subdued tone.

John let loose a small exhale as he rubbed a hand through his mussed dark brown hair. "No, Miri." He told her honestly, but that was the extent of it; he wasn't exactly thrilled about this whole occasion. John, again, resisted the urge to spout another reasonable cliché: if you love the man, you have to compromise since you're spending the rest of your life with him. He may have not said it due to his own personal reasons, but it coincided with his best friend's views at the moment – he was willing to make sacrifices.

"Who ever said that you need a big wedding to start off marriage, anyway?" Miranda wrapped her arms around herself, and John suddenly realized how small she looked when she did that. "God, I can't believe I'm even doing this…marriage…I never would have thought about it…but…it's the next step right? In a relationship?" She may have been talking to him, but John had an inkling feeling that she was speaking to herself.

John instantly frowned as her heard the hesitation and uncertainty in Miranda's voice. He really hoped she wasn't doing this because it was "the next step." Many people believed that Miranda had commitment issues (he never had a problem with her; they were always there for one another), but it was really because she overthought things down to its very essence. She wanted to be sure and she wanted to have the best. It was how she was raised. John had assumed that much when she had accepted Jacob's proposal so quickly; she must have thought it through. He also assumed that she finally found the happiness that she so readily deserved. If she was happy, then he was happy. However, this sudden hesitation caught him off guard…and perhaps gave him some (dare he say it?) hope.

"Do you love him, Miri?" John quietly asked, knowing that it was no longer the time to play the best friend, but the reasonable best friend. It was Miranda's happiness on the line, and John was never willing to sacrifice it.

"Jacob is kind and secure. He would never hurt me, John. He's not like the others. And…he wants me to be happy; not many people want that for me." Miranda hastily replied.

_I do._ John bitterly thought, but slapped that part of him aside. It wasn't the time to be bitter. Miranda made her choice…and he wasn't even in her peripheral.

"That's not what I asked, Miranda." John shifted in his seat, trying to see her better in the darkness.

"I…" Her voice trailed off, making John wonder the source of all this sudden insecurity.

"That's always a good sign…" He grumbled out, hoping that his gut wasn't right: that Miranda _was_ really marrying Jacob because it was "the next step."

"Stop that." Miranda puffed out in humiliation and irritation. "It's just weird saying it in front of you." She defended, but something in her tone made John not believe her.

"It's not hard, Miri. Just say it. Do you love him?" God, why did he always have to be such a good friend? How long was he going to have to endure this? He glanced over at his clock, wishing he was asleep instead of having to endure this torture. His gaze flickered back to Miranda, watching her steadily.

"I…" She made an exasperated noise. "Stop looking at me like that; its making me nervous."

"Oh, God, woman!" John tsked out. "Just say it already."

"What's the point of this nonsense? I agreed to marry him, isn't that enough?" She snapped out at him.

_No_. John's brain and heart immediately replied. She was getting riled up again and that didn't bode well. He would allow it to drop, but hoped, for her sake, that it was really out of embarrassment that she couldn't say it, which, he realized, was understandable as Miranda was hard-pressed to really open up or trust anyone at all. However, when she did trust someone, she was fiercely protective and contributed an undying loyalty that not many could find anymore. It was one of the many attributes that he adored about her.

He continued to watch her squirm underneath his gaze and decided to grant her mercy…and faith. He trusted her judgment, even if he didn't agree with it sometimes. "Fine, Miri. As long as you know it, then I guess you don't have to say it aloud." He shrugged. "But, there you go. Problem solved. You love him. The wedding can go on." He felt more drained than ever and began to shift backwards onto his bed so that he was lying down against his headboard.

"But he wants the wedding in Virginia!" Miranda complained once more, making John roll his eyes. This was not going to go anywhere tonight.

He adjusted himself inside his covers, ignoring how Miranda began to pace once more. Once he was inside his covers, he rubbed his tired face briefly before snuggling deeper into his bed. It was too late to continue this conversation; it was obvious that it was not going to be solved tonight. Usually, John was relatively a good listener and attentive to Miranda's needs, but honestly, he was tired of this. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. John was no stranger to being tired. He was used to the late and long shifts he had to endure as a firefighter, such as the one he had just returned from about a half hour…no, make that an hour ago now.

John stifled a yawn and sank back into his bed, dropping his head onto the goose-feathered pillow Miranda had gifted him for his birthday last year. It was so comfy. He shifted once more until he was lying on his stomach and his head was engrossed in his pillow.

"Are you even listening?" Miranda finally questioned after hearing him adjust and eyed the back of his head with ire.

"Mmmhmm…" John muttered out and then padded the empty spot next to him as he closed his eyes. "Come here…easier to talk when you're not pacing and shouting." He mumbled into his pillow.

He heard her exasperated sigh, followed by two small _ker-plunk _sounds of her shoes falling onto the floor and the removal of the covers before it was slapped back into place. He allowed a triumphant smirk to appear when he felt the bed dip as she slipped into the bed.

"Did you just come back from your shift?" Miranda' hostile tone had subsided into a quiet worry.

"Mmmhmm…" John distractedly replied as he fought off sleep. He felt Miranda shift closer, making him catch a whiff of her shampoo. His senses were overridden by her and he desperately fought to keep his emotions and body in check as he felt her warm breath graze him as she spoke to him.

Normally he could control himself around Miranda; he'd been doing it for years, but lately, he noticed once more that he was becoming so tired. He already knew it wasn't because of the physical demands from his work; he'd been doing that for almost three years. No, it was the emotional demands that he was facing, especially the news of Miranda's engagement with Jacob. John was finally feeling the toll of being _just_ the best friend.

Yes, he would admit it to himself. He was in love with Miranda Lawson. She was the epitome of perfection; brains, beauty, and a smart mouth to match that fiery temper of hers – oh yes, she had quite a temper – that balanced out the loving, compassionate side of her.

And he was unequivocally in love with her. He had been since the moment he saw her. And yet, she had never even considered him as a prospect. He was the classic unrequited best friend, who was doomed to moon after the girl for the rest of his life. It was sadly pathetic.

"I'm sorry." Miranda's breath tickled his nose and he could sense that she shifted closer to him.

"S'okay." John forced his body to remain relaxed as he shifted to his side to face her properly. "You know I'm here for you." He assured her as he opened his sleepy blue-green eyes at her.

"I know. You're always here for me." Miranda whispered, sending a shiver down John's spine as he suddenly realized _how_ close Miranda was. She snuggled up against him and he desperately hoped that she couldn't hear the marathon his heart was undergoing. She tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing herself closer – it was a familiar thing they had always done when they were kids. It was innocent; a reassuring gesture of a human connection for Miranda. Unfortunately for John, it was hard for him to keep innocent thoughts whenever she did that.

"Can I stay the night?" Miranda quietly inquired. The insecure and vulnerable tone in her voice returned and it instantly shook the not-so-innocent thoughts away for John and caused his protective side to kick in. Concern etched itself in his mind. Why did she sound that way?

"Always." He assured her again.

"Thanks." She muttered under his neck, causing his skin to form goosebumps.

"Mmhmm." He muttered as he felt her relax in his arms and allowed his eyes to drift close from the comfort he suddenly felt. He nearly drifted off into sleep when he heard her whisper.

"John?"

"Hmm?" He groggily replied.

"I...I love you."

It amused John on the irony of his situation. She could so easily admit to him her love, and yet she would shy away from voicing her affection for Jacob. He thought it was quite silly, especially since Miranda was never one to shy away from much. Anyways, he sleepily thought, it was probably due to the fact that they had known each other since they were kids; they endured and overcame much together, so it was only natural that you love one another.

He knew Miranda loved him; they were best friends after all. However, the only difference for him was that when he uttered those words, it came from the depths of his heart and beyond, and would never be accepted beyond the bounds of friendship. It saddened him, but he took what he could get. After all, love was all about sacrifices, and he would keep making them as long as she was happy.

John let out a quiet sigh and an equally quiet confession that the recipient would never grasp or comprehend the true magnitude of. However, in his sleepy state, he never realized the tightening hold around his waist or the quicken breath of his bedmate when he uttered his expression of love to her.

"I love you too, Miri."


	2. Chapter 2 - Broken Smile

**Author's Note: So...I totally did it. Inspiration hit me today and made me sit down and write (and made me completely ignore the assignments that I need to finish for my class tomorrow...eeep). I have no idea where it came from as it differed completely with what I had initially mused about before...but, I have to say, I am quite pleased with it. I'm not sure when I'll get another moment to just sit down and write another chapter, as this one too, I suppose can be left as it is. I guess whenever the inspiration strikes? Who knows - I'm totally opened to it now. Haha. Anyways, please let me know what you think!**

**Oh, and thank you to those who reviewed! Your support is heartening! **

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Broken Smile**

The deep groan and dip of the plush couch alerted John of the arrival of the female occupant. He immediately cleared his throat and straightened his back as he forced his eyes open, feigning wakefulness. He was really missing his bed right now; it was way too early for this. God, how did he allow Miranda to convince him to come again? The image of Miranda's all-too-innocent smile and the promise of pancakes came quickly to mind. Oh, yes. She bribed him. With that smile…and pancakes. Damn those pancakes! He was totally suckered into this.

"Bloody Hell, she's throwing another tantrum." A miffed Australian accent rippled the quiet air, forcing John to glance over at the brunette by his side. He withheld a chuckle at Oriana's peeved expression; arms crossed and face fully tainted by a pout as she glared at the lavish dressing room.

"It can't be that bad…" John trailed off as he angled his head to the left to view down the hallway toward the dressing rooms. He could hear Miranda's hardened voice as she criticized one thing after another. He didn't envy the saleswoman.

"Easy for you to say. You've been sitting in the waiting room whilst I've been scouring the bloody store for dresses! Heaven forbid that after trying out nearly 50 dresses that she hasn't found one she's liked." The bride-to-be's little sister grumbled as she sunk further into the couch, glowering further as she sulked.

John couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping this time. "You know her, she wants it to be perfect." He gently defended his best friend as he adjusted himself further into the surprisingly comfortable couch – no doubt the store knew how many of his fellow males would have to suffer the ache of wedding dress shopping. Actually… John blinked around, realizing that he was the only male in the spacious waiting room. Well…viewing room, now that he thought about it, as he glanced at his own reflection through the three large full-length mirrors before him and Oriana. He really was suckered into this.

Oriana snorted. "She's being _picky_. There's a difference."

"It's her wedding, I think she's entitled to be a little picky, right?" John mused, knowing that Miranda was only fussing because her over thinking brain wanted this to be a one-time memorable occasion. She wanted it to be perfect for Jacob. He ignored the familiar plummeting emotion in his gut.

"Oh, my God, she's totally wrapped you around her finger." Oriana feigned a gag. "You're completely whipped."

"Wh…What?" John stammered, completely affronted. "I am not!" He playfully shoved her, trying to distract her from knowing his true feelings toward her sister. "I have you know that she's promised me pancakes for this."

"Uh huh." Oriana scoffed, unbelieving. "Sure…that's it." She smirked at him knowingly; an eyebrow raised in challenge. John pointedly ignored it with his own matching scoff.

"Blueberry pancakes." He mustered up as manly as he was able, chest puffed out. "I'm in it for the all you can eat blueberry pancakes."

"Right." She snickered before gracing him with an almost sympathetic expression. He blinked, wondering what that was about and if she knew about his feelings toward her sister. Not possible; he kept his feelings pretty hidden. He _had_ to keep his feelings hidden.

"No! Not this one!" Miranda's clearly displeasured groan travelled to John's ears. He glanced down the hallway again, worried that his friend was getting stressed.

"Ugh…I'm so glad Jacob's mom didn't come today." Oriana's own groan was an astounding replica of her sister's. "Can't you do anything?" She waved her hands over to the rooms with an exasperated and pleading gaze.

"Me?" John looked at Oriana in confusion. "I don't know anything about dresses; do you want her to chew me out?"

"Please!" Oriana gripped his arm, tugging it toward her in desperation. "I'm at my wits end! And she listens to you!" John grunted as he was pulled down, trying to not laugh at the wide-eyed and fearful way the young woman was being. He knew Miranda was a handful, but seriously, Oriana was exaggerating.

"She listens to you more. Now," he gently pried the vice-grip off of him, "let go!" He succeeded in freeing his arm, but not before receiving a chilling glare from Oriana. Honestly, John _swore _that the two Lawson sisters were twins.

"That is so not true." Oriana mumbled before slouching back against the couch with a deflating thud.

John sighed as he righted himself properly before glancing at the Ori. Great, now she was moping and sending him snarky glares. He tried to ignore it for a few seconds, but his better judgment was winning out the longer he sat there. As it was the case with Miranda, John was frequently unable to say "no" to Oriana as well. For different reasons, of course. He had never harbored any romantic feelings for the younger Lawson, but rather a brotherly protectiveness that began so many years ago. They were his family and John had learned at a young age to cherish his family.

"Fine!" John drawled out in defeat after she delivered one more glare. "But if she yells at me, you're buying me the pancakes, squirt." He warned as he stood up, stretching a bit before he entered the lioness' den.

"Thanks, Shepard!" Oriana beamed cheekily and John quickly realized how devious she was becoming.

John's shoes lightly echoed as he entered the dressing rooms and toward the increasing audio of Miranda's voice.

"It's too poofy. I can't wear this; I look like a cupcake! It's not symmetrical and it drags." John kept the snicker from escaping his mouth as he heard Miranda's complaints.

"You look beautiful, Ms. Lawson…but I must agree, I think the other dress did suite you better." Another female voice replied, trying to appease. A rustle of fabric reached John's ears as he spotted the saleswoman at Miranda's open door dressing room.

"Then why did you give me this one?" Miranda retorted with sharp condescendence and John couldn't help the frown that developed. When Miranda was younger, she had detached herself from the world through a devastatingly sharp tongue that warranted her as cruel and unkind. However, as John discovered and not many people knew, Miranda had purposely done that as a defense mechanism; an outlet of release against the troubled lifestyle she grew up in and to protect anyone from getting too close. She was actually one of the most noble and empathetic people he had ever met, and those characteristics revealed themselves the more he had come to know her. The sharp tone only brokered out now and again when she was extremely stressed or overwhelmed. He really needed to get her to calm down.

"Hey." John greeted as he poked his head inside the open door. He easily peeked over the saleswoman's head as he delivered Miranda one of his smiles, hoping to ease her frantic emotions.

"John!" Miranda snapped in surprise. "You can't be in here!" Her face reddened out of anger or embarrassment – John couldn't tell since he was fighting to control his own sudden tsunami of emotions. Miranda was just getting out of her dress when he had popped his head in, giving him a quick eyeful of her taut stomach and white bra-clad chest, before she had the sense to hide herself behind the dress in her hands.

"Sorry!" He managed to stammer out before whipping his head out and slamming his head against the adjoining room. His heart rate clamored for control as he desperately forced the not-so innocent thoughts out of his head.

"This is the women's dressing room, sir!" The saleswoman – Ereba, by the looks of her name tag – reprimanded. "Please leave!"

"Sorry!" He groaned out as he rubbed the back of his head. God that hurt. "I was just wondering if you were all right." He whimpered out as he touched his throbbing head.

"Sir! You need to leave!" Ereba commanded as some frantic fabric swooshing occurred within the room.

"No, it's fine." Miranda sighed out. "Give us a moment, please." She gently shooed the woman away and John was glad to hear the sharpness was fading in her voice.

"Only a moment." Ereba warned John as she passed by. He gave a dutiful, albeit painful nod as he watched her head down the hall and discuss something with Oriana.

"Are you all right?" The amusement in Miranda's voice was worth the pain.

"Mmm." John sounded as he rubbed the back of his head further. "Banged my head."

"Come here." Miranda smoothly commanded and John froze.

"Ehh…what?" John fumbled as the last image of Miranda flooded his mind again.

"Come here." She repeated in a more irritated tone. "Let me see. It sounded painful."

"But…" John stammered again.

"I'm dressed now. Come in here." She ordered more firmly and John obediently, if tentatively, entered the room. True to her word, she was dressed now. She was wearing her tank top and jeans – the slight rumpling of her top the only sign that she had placed her clothes on in haste.

She motioned with slender fingers for him to come closer and turn around. With a slight blush, he obeyed as he forced himself to concentrate on the mass array of dresses that were strewed throughout the large dressing room and not on the woman behind him. Oriana wasn't kidding when she said that Miranda had tried on 50 dresses. He hissed when he felt her gentle prod.

"You really need to be more careful, John." She lightly chided as she continued to inspect the growing bump on his head. "I don't have the resources to put you back together every time you do something rash." She playfully pushed him away, seemingly satisfied that he was fine.

"Sorry." He mumbled again as he sheepishly turned to face his long-time crush. His sheepishness vanished the moment he registered the smile on her face. He knew that smile and he _hated_ it.

It was a broken smile. One that appeared on several occasions since they've known one another and one that John had always sworn to eradicate since the first time he had seen it. It was a smile that displayed all of Miranda's insecurities and bitterness in one false attempt to portray happiness. So perfectly generated that not many could pick up on the lie.

His heart groaned in pain because his best friend was hurting. "Hey." He gently reached out and surrounded her in a warm hug. "What's wrong?" He quietly asked as he felt her resist the gesture for a brief second before gripping his waist tightly.

"I hate this." She mumbled into his shirt and John had to hide the surprise at how easily she unraveled before him. She was typically too stubborn to let him in so easily. At least that smile was gone.

"You'll find the dress for your wedding, Miranda." He consoled, swaying her gently. He knew it was more than a dress; Miranda wasn't a woman to weep over such things. Her distress went deeper than that, and he aimed to find out what and fix it.

"It's not that." She admitted and John couldn't help the small boost of ego; again with the lack of stubbornness! This wedding must really be getting to her.

He remained silent, continuing to sway her into comfort and security. "It's this whole thing. A wedding dress is supposed to be perfect; to symbolize permanence and union to someone you love. A representation of how well you both know one another." She took a deep breath. "It's supposed to be stunning and a reflection of how you're ready to become co-dependent, but more than that. It's a way of letting others know how much a husband-to-be see's his bride, just as much as she sees him; flaws and all and despite it, they fit perfectly together." She took a much needed breath before continuing. "I want the man I'm marrying to see me in my wedding dress and see that I'm just as perfect, because he accepts me as I am." She gripped his waist tighter before letting out a pained exhale. "But I can't find a damn thing that emulates that with Jacob. I mean, if I can't find this dress than how can I expect to make this marriage work? What if I screw this up too?" She griped, clenching onto him for dear life.

Damn. He knew women's minds were complicated, but this was just, well, over his head. Hell, all he thought a wedding dress meant was purity. No wonder, she was freaking out. Wait…what did she mean if she screwed this up too?

"What do you mean, Miranda?" He asked, genuinely confused. He felt Miranda stiffen in his grasp, alerting his concern to expand further. "Miri?" He carefully questioned.

"It's nothing. I…I just don't want to screw this up." The evasiveness was obvious. What was she regretting? He wanted to explore further, but Miranda's emotional state was chaotic as it was (God, how he really hated this wedding and what it rendered Miranda into), so he let it drop. He placed faith in her judgment. Again.

"You're not going to screw this up, Miri." With a tender finger, he lifted Miranda's chin to face him. He felt her relax at the action and desperately ignored the urge to lean down and kiss her. "Anyone can see that you're perfect already. You don't need a dress to prove that." He admitted, feeling his cheeks flush lightly at his honesty.

"You think so?" She whispered; cheeks lightly pink as well.

"I know so." He gave her a half smile, trying to hide his own emotional turmoil. "You're Miranda Lawson. You define yourself by more than your looks and what other people think. You're intelligent and beautiful, but also more than that. You're also generous, caring, and determined." His grin grew more confident as his expressed his thoughts. "Sophistically stubborn." He playfully nudged, before becoming serious. "Overwhelmingly strong; not many can proudly hold their head up after going through the crap you did." His mind recalled all the hardships that she had to endure growing up and he could tell that Miranda did as well by the distant look in her eyes.

"John…"

"It's true, Miri. You're amazing and Jacob is a complete idiot if he doesn't realize it."

"You're the idiot…" She burrowed her head into his chest, nearly tilting him backward from the sudden force. "…don't you realize I couldn't have gotten through any of that without you?" She mumbled and John barely heard it over the rapid beating of his own heart. His heart was dancing with joy at how much she valued him. He only wished he could tell her the full extent of how he felt for her.

"You're worth more than you give yourself credit for, Miri." He whispered and despite his better judgment kissed the top of her head. It was the small victories that he lived for, the masochist that he was.

"Thank you." She reverently thanked as she held him close.

They stayed embraced for a few more moments before John's damn stomach growled in angry protest. He wanted to throttle his own stomach for its interruption, but the laughter that escaped Miranda's lips made up for it.

"I nearly forgot about our brunch plans." Miranda nervously chuckled as she carefully extracted herself from him, discreetly wiping the edges of her eyes as she did so. "I owe you pancakes for being a good sport." She halfheartedly teased him before glancing around the dressing room with a frown. "I really need to pick a dress though; I can't stall on this one…" She muttered as she glanced at a few to their left. John guessed it was the "keep pile" he once heard her and Oriana yammering about.

"Did you really try on all of these?" He asked, awed in her accomplishment.

"Humph. More than I liked." She grumbled.

"I take it you really didn't like any of them?" He inspected a rather fluffy one that was left wanting. He couldn't imagine Miranda in one of those. She fitted a classier look than that particular dress offered. Something like those dresses that were in those movies his Mom and Aunt Karin used to watch together. With the strappy thingys…and not so wavy thingys…yeah…he really didn't know what he was talking about.

"Not really." She sighed and scratched her neck in a frustration. "But I need to find something that's at least decent." She replied, noticeably calmer than when he had entered. He was glad that she was feeling better, but if only he could help make her dilemma disappear…

"Let me take a look around the store." John found himself offering. What the hell? He thought he already established that he knew _absolutely_ nothing about dresses.

"What?" She shot him an incredulous expression.

"What? What harm could it do?" He ventured out, wondering if Oriana could help him find something really quick. Why did he have to open his mouth?

"All right…I guess it couldn't hurt…" She eyed him suspiciously. "Make sure Ori is with you."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." John mock-pouted before huffing out of the dressing room. She really did know him.

"I do it out of love." She teased back.

Yeah, right. God, what did he get himself into? John hastened back out into the waiting room, searching for Oriana. He found her speaking with the saleswoman still. She halted whatever she was saying when she spotted him.

"I'm guessing it went well since you came out in one piece." She jibed, but then frowned when she looked at him more closely. "Why are you so pale?"

"I said I'll help her find a dress." John stammered out, feeling more nervous than he had initially thought. "Help me!" He grabbed her wrist and rudely hailed her away from Ereba.

"Hey!" Oriana let out a squeak of protest as she was dragged off.

"I guess I'll tend to Ms. Lawson." Ereba called out and John thought he heard her let out an anxious sigh as she left.

"I thought I sent you in there to help pick one, not choose one." Oriana groaned as she swiped through the various dresses with him.

"I don't know how it happened, okay? She was all sad and didn't like any of the dresses and then I just opened my mouth and words tumbled out." He protested as his eyes glazed over at the many dresses he was flipping through.

"You seriously got it bad…"

"What?" John snapped his head over to Oriana, thinking he didn't hear her properly over the sound of metal scrapes created by the hangers.

"Nothing." Oriana replied a bit too earnestly for John's taste. He questionably eyed her for another moment before deducing that Miranda would like nothing in the particular section he was viewing. He rubbed his face in nervous frustration before walking toward the other side of the store.

He continued to flip through the various offerings of white before halting upon one. It was simpler than the other dresses in the store, but somehow, it fitted the picture of grace and elegance that he associated with Miranda, while adding a dash of individuality that would just accentuate Miranda's personality and not the other way around. Damn, he could really see Miranda in this dress.

John quickly padded back over to Oriana, presenting the dress for her approval. The younger Lawson blinked at the dress and then back at him.

"She owes you more than blueberry pancakes." Was all she said as she grabbed the dress from his hands and practically frolicked to the dressing rooms. "Wait here!" She added before disappearing.

"Does that mean I did good?" He wondered aloud, knowing that his question wasn't heard by the suddenly giddy Oriana.

With nervous anticipation, John returned to his initial seat on the couch, hoping that Miranda was happy with her choice. He hoped Jacob appreciated his efforts, because, if that man dared to make Miranda unhappy in any way…well…he'll not only have to contend with her rage, but her best friend's too…plus a fist…maybe two…ohh….he would definitely add a punch kick combo to Jacob's face…yeah…that would make him feel better.

"Someone's smug." Miranda's voice seeped into John's musings.

The firefighter jumped out of surprise before settling his eyes on Miranda. He nearly had a heart attack as he gawked at her. "Wow." He uttered as he stared at Miranda, who was wearing the slimming and simple elegant wedding dress. It looked better than he had imagined. It was strapless and fitted her curves beautifully, accentuating her body in a modest, but gorgeous way. The dress complemented Miranda, rather than the other way around; her natural persona enhanced as the dress seemed to reinforce not only her physical beauty, but her inner beauty as well. John instantly thought she looked like Audrey Hepburn: gracefully enchanting with a natural air of confidence and dignity. She was positively beautiful. And perfect.

"You look…" John stalled on words, completely enraptured as he watched Miranda situate herself in front of the three full length mirrors.

"Mr. Taylor is going to be very pleased." Ereba shared her sentiments.

John noticed Miranda's lips twitch into an echo of her broken smile, making him frown. Did she not like this one? "It's you, Miri." John reminded with a reassuring smile. Miranda's gaze briefly flickered over to his, before a squeal caught her attention.

"This is the one, Randa!" Oriana shrieked as she watched Miranda examine herself in the mirrors.

Miranda smiled at her sister's response as she gauged her reflection. The heartwarming smile caused John's own to appear as he continued to secretly gape at the woman he hopelessly loved. This really was the dress that she would get married in. He stood off to the side, but behind Miranda, watching her expression for approval.

Her gaze flickered to his once more and he felt both their smiles grow bigger; the mirrors only accentuating it as they stood side by side within them. This was the smile he wished to see on her face. The one that encompassed and overrode all the others she had ever presented him. The one that made his insides burn with unbearable affection and love. It was one of complete and utter genuine happiness that made her glow like a goddess.

His heart seemed to swell and die at the same time when she whispered the next words, never taking her eyes off his as they stared each other down in the mirror.

"It's perfect."


	3. Chapter 3 - Rainbows and Butterflies

**Author's Note: I wanted to thank TheSneakyFox for betaing this chapter and cmilano8 for motivating me to push out a quick chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please Read and Review and especially let me know what you think of the story and characters thus far! Peace. - Phantom452**

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Rainbows and Butterflies**

John stared at the letter in a mixture of contempt and uneasiness. Why? Why did this have to happen _now_? His grip on the paper tightened briefly, crinkling the edges as his fingers dug into the upsetting news. He thought he was done with that life – made it clear that he no longer wanted to pursue it. His eyes flicked over to his calendar and then back to the letter. What was he going to do?

_**Tap! Tap!**_

The sudden knock startled John from his dark recollections. He glared at the door briefly before realizing that it came from his screen door. His eyes instantly softened, although, a worried crease permeated through as he realized he'd have to deliver an unpleasant piece of news to his guest. Taking a much needed calming breath, he stuffed the letter in his jacket pocket before sliding his patio door open.

John was instantly assaulted with a white pastry bag to the face. "Oof!" He grunted before catching the offending bag and whirling out of the way as Miranda breezed through the door.

"Breakfast!" Miranda happily chimed as she entered John's townhouse and headed straight to the couch.

John's stomach grumbled as the smell of donuts wafted into his nostrils, instantly voting to forgive Miranda for throwing the pastries at his face. His eyes widened as he took a peek inside. "Is that a bear claw?" He asked, voiced pitched with excitement as he ogled his favorite donut.

"Of course." She threw him a smirk as she settled herself onto the couch and placed two previously unnoticed coffee cups onto the table before her.

A smile fought to John's face as he watched Miranda comfortably wiggle herself into the far left corner of the couch. It was her favorite spot – one that she always insisted on having regardless if he had been sitting there or not. "You do know that it's 10:30 at night, right?" He teased as he threw off the foreboding weight in his jacket onto a chair before sitting beside his best friend, hands already digging into the bag. For this moment, at least, he could pretend everything was alright.

"Oh? It doesn't seem that you're objecting to my choice," she retorted with a mischievous tilt of her chin. "I can take it back…" She slowly stretched a hand over him to grab the bag.

"No!" He whipped the bag away, staring at her with mock-horror as he ignored how his heart skipped when she leaned in close. "It's mine!" he whined, but allowed his eyes to dance with mirth.

"You said that you didn't want it." John nearly audibly gulped from the almost coy expression that flitted across her face. He didn't have much time to process it before she pounced from her spot to tackle him, arms reaching to grab the donuts from his grasp.

Months from now, John would still vehemently deny that the undignified girlish squeak had escaped his mouth, but in the moment, he was too preoccupied to notice it as he frantically stretched the donuts out of Miranda's reach while his other hand playfully held her at bay. "I did not!" he cried out through his laughter as they wrestled.

"Give it up, Shepard!" She beautifully laughed with him as she made a swipe for the bag. John swung his arm higher above their heads, silently mocking her attempts.

"Come and get it!" he challenged with one of his boyish smirks. He felt her body still – he desperately tried to ignore how she ended up straddling his stomach during their mock-scuffle – forcing him to freeze as he tried to gauge the sudden shift. He could feel the heat of her right hand as it practically seared itself against his chest, and idly hoped that she couldn't feel the sudden pick up of his heartbeat. A flicker of _something_ flashed in Miranda's eyes – he had never seen that look on her before – which made him nervous and anxious all at once. "Scared Ms. Lawson?" he taunted, trying to mask his nerves and test the waters all at once.

"Cautious," she retorted with a slight narrow of her eyes. Another minute passed before she flashed him a brilliant smile.

John's mind blanked at her gesture, pleasantly numb. The distraction was all Miranda needed as she quickly hooked her right foot under his left calf and tilted to her left. John still hadn't registered the movement until he felt himself tipping off the couch in earnest. His training instantly kicked in as he felt the familiar surprise vibrate through his system. He haphazardly dropped the bag and instinctively cradled Miranda's head as they roughly plummeted off the couch and onto the hardwood floor.

"You okay?" He tried to ignore how his breath hitched as he stared down at an acutely close, disheveled Miranda.

"Mmmhmm," she mumbled and John wondered why she wouldn't look at him. He did a quick cursory inspection and deemed her fine before trying to meet her gaze once more. She still refused to look at him. What was that about? Why wouldn't she look at him? He suddenly noticed her very red cheeks.

Oh…

John instantly realized how they had landed; bodies dangerously close and intimate. She was uncomfortable with their…er…position. He flushed in embarrassment and a tinge of annoyance.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked as he gently (regretfully) pried himself off of her and settled his back against the foot of the couch. She glanced at him quizzically, making him wonder about the expression until he realized how…harsh his voice sounded. Well, could she blame him? _She_ had placed them in _that_ position. She couldn't _do_ something like that if he was ever going to _try_ and get over her. "You could have gotten hurt." He tried to brush off his irritation as over-protectiveness.

She blinked at him before sitting up. Her brows furrowed for a moment before she turned and reached behind her. "Donuts," she offered quietly, before placing the bag awkwardly onto the coffee table.

Miranda's uncharacteristic meekness softened John's anger. He quickly pointed his finger at the bag and announced childishly with a wide grin: "Split the bear claw with me?"

* * *

"Commander Shepard." A strong, but gravelly voice momentarily distracted John from the pastries in the display case. He turned his eyes away from the various selections to meet a crisply dressed naval officer. The man was nearly as tall as his father and held himself confidently, but respectfully as he held out a sympathetic hand.

"Captain Hackett." His mother's voice greeted neutrally as she returned the handshake. John hated that tone; she had been using it often these past few days. It wasn't her usual fun and carefree voice, but one that she used to hide with whenever she felt sad. Oh yes, John may only be 8, but he had learned to recognize the rare bouts of sadness. He glanced around, wishing his father could make her smile; he always did whenever she used that tone. His face fell. His dad couldn't do that anymore.

"This is John?" The naval officer smiled kindly at him, but John didn't feel like smiling. Maybe…maybe he felt sad too.

"Yes," his mother replied with a light, proud smile. She nudged him gently, making him want to roll his eyes.

"Hello," he replied quietly.

"It's nice to meet you." Captain Hackett offered his hand and John feebly shook it. He smiled once more before returning his attention to his mother and sitting down across from them. "I'm sorry about Matthew."

"Thank you."

"I know you're on leave, but Mr. Lawson insisted on meeting with you…"

John's attention returned to the pastries and the various happenings in the coffee shop as he tuned out the conversation; he wished he felt hungry. He didn't have much of an appetite since last week. Nothing seemed appealing anymore.

"I don't care who he is, Hackett; I'm done with that life. I want to be alone with my son."

"I understand your reluctance and anger, Hannah, but the Navy needs you. You can't resign just yet. You're a natural leader and one hell of a sailor. Mr. Lawson is offering an opportunity to prevent disasters; opportunities that can rectify mistakes and save lives."

Hannah remained silent, but she held a warning glare on her face.

"Mistakes like those made last week regarding your—"

"Finish that sentence and I will not be responsible for my next action, Hackett."

The Captain's back straightened at the near growl that escaped Hannah's lips. He glanced down at his joined hands before turning his eyes upward with an apologetic lilt. "I don't mean to offend, Hannah; you know that. I'm merely admitting the Navy's fault for what happened – whether they do or not. Matthew was my friend and I want to see that his sacrifice isn't tossed to the wayside."

John watched as his mother glared outside, trying to control her emotions. Her lips pursed together in an even line. He could feel her anger simmering within. He glanced away, not wanting to see this part of his mother, but knowing that he needed to do something to help calm her down.

"He's only in town for the weekend and Admiral Kahoku was insistent to get this contract. I wouldn't have come if I didn't think this was important – nor if I didn't think that you are the right sailor for this. You'll make sure that we'll get it right this time." He paused. "He's waiting outside."

"You have a lot of nerve," she snarled out, snapping John out of his reverie. He blinked up at his mother and did the first thing he could think of. She visibly calmed when he touched her arm. Her own hand consciously snaked over and patted his reassuringly.

"This is too important for us to lose, Hannah. We need the best team to helm this."

"Then get Anderson. I don't need to be involved, Steve."

His mother quietly coiled back into a neutral pose, granting John some marginal relief; he didn't want her to be angry or sad.

"Commander Anderson is unavailable." Hackett sighed. "Regardless, you are the primary candidate. We need your help on this, Hannah. I don't want to see another incident like the one last week."

John's mother was silent as she gazed outside, seemingly thinking about Hackett's words. He followed her stare and noticed that she was glowering at a man outside. He was on the phone, but John figured he was important; there were two other men standing by him in guarding poses. His eyes flitted over to a subtle movement beside the man. A girl was standing rigidly beside him, seemingly taking in the area with only her eyes. John tilted his head. She was pretty. He frowned, wondering why he thought that before he stumbled back into his seat with a startled jump.

The girl had turned to look inside the coffee shop. _Right. At. Him!_ Embarrassed, he quickly turned back into his seat. His mother glanced at him curiously before being drawn back into the conversation by Hackett's movements; he placed his hands on the table, neatly folding them before him.

"I'll speak with him, but I won't agree to anything until my concerns are satisfied." His mother's tone brokered no argument.

"Fair enough." Hackett stood. "Let me get him."

Minutes later, the man from outside entered with Captain Hackett. He was dressed in a nice suit, but John couldn't shake the feeling that the man was anything but nice. He was shorter than Captain Hackett, but held himself like a giant; tall and noticeable. John still didn't think that impression was a good thing.

"Commander Shepard," the man greeted, but lacked the warmth that Hackett displayed. He stood in front of them before his mother nodded in acknowledgement.

"Mr. Lawson," she replied with a stern expression, before noticing the small figure beside him. "And who might this be?" Her tone was noticeably kinder.

The man – Mr. Lawson – barely turned to regard the girl that clung to him like a shadow. John could have sworn he saw a twitch of annoyance on his lips. "My eldest daughter, Miranda." Upon her name, she held herself higher and John couldn't help compare her to those snooty girls at the Navy school he went to. But John still had to admit that she did look a lot prettier than them.

"Hello, Miranda," his mother greeted.

"Greetings, Commander Shepard." John lifted an eyebrow. She didn't talk like any of the kids at school; more like the adults.

"This is my son, John." She nudged him like before and he stumbled out a not-so-elegant Hello. He nearly blushed crimson when she glanced at him funny. "Why don't you two sit over at the other table while I speak with your father and Captain Hackett?" she suggested to the young girl.

Miranda uncertainly glanced over at her father.

"I prefer it if she remain with us; I'm showing Miranda the logistics of what I do." Henry intervened.

"How old is she?" Hannah instantly retorted in a much colder voice than she had addressed Miranda with.

"She is twelve." Henry replied evenly.

"Then she'll have plenty of more opportunities to observe at another time." She held Mr. Lawson's gaze. "John," she stated after a moment – not breaking eye contact with the Nice-Suit man, "why don't you treat Miranda to a donut?" She finally tore her hardened gaze away in order to hand him 5 dollars. He took it gingerly, uncertain about the stuffy feelings he was getting from the adults.

"Okay," he simply replied as he got out of his chair and walked over to Miranda.

"Father?" Miranda pointedly ignored his approach.

"Just go, Miranda." John frowned at the harshness. His dad said never to talk like that to girls. He instantly disliked Miranda's father, especially seeing how she quietly flinched and slouched her shoulders at the tone.

"Yes, Father," she replied obediently before turning to face John with that snooty look he had noticed her walk in with. However, he did not miss the subtle fear in her eyes when she turned away from her dad; it vanished the moment she eyed him with distaste.

John did his best to not be put off by her hostility as he led her to the array of pastries. "Which one do you want?" he asked, glancing at the food, still wishing he could feel hungry. He eyed a few of the donuts, even his favorite one, but felt nothing.

"That one." Miranda pointed to the large donut after staring at the prices and choices. John frowned.

"You want that one?" he asked, feeling queasy as he stared at her choice. Why did she have to pick that one?

"Yes. It's the most expensive, is it not? I want that one." There was a pause. "Are you all right?"

John snapped his head over to her, surprised to hear the thin concern in her voice. "Fi…fine," he stuttered out.

"Is it not good?" she questioned, tilting her head curiously at him.

"No…it's the best one," he assured her.

"Oh, so you think I can't finish it then?" Defiance radiated off of her.

"No! No…that's not it," John stumbled, feeling a layer of fear from how she was glaring at him.

"Then what is it?" she demanded with narrow eyes.

"I…" He debated on telling it to her. He glanced at the donut again, feeling the sadness come in waves. "My dad used to get that for me; it's my favorite," he mumbled, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Perhaps something was telling in his voice or Miranda was just _really _good at reading people because the look she gave him was filled with a sadness that had become so recently familiar. And it was with that realization that he understood that she knew how he felt. She knew the pain he was going through; knew what it was like to wake up in the morning knowing that one of your parents weren't going to greet you anymore; knew what it was like to have even the smallest things bring up memories; knew what it was like to cry for no particular reason. She knew all of that and it made John feel horrible that she had gone through the sadness that he was feeling.

"Hey, what are you doing?" John brushed aside his thoughts when he noticed Miranda had moved up to the register and was speaking with the cashier.

"I'm getting a donut," she replied easily as they both watched the worker prepare her selection.

"But I'm supposed to pay," John nearly whined, feeling confused at her sudden change of behavior; she still held herself like the snooty girls, but she seemed, more relaxed than she had been a moment ago.

"You were too slow." She shrugged him off as she reached for the massive donut and wrapped it in napkins to save her from the stickiness. She led the way to a corner table, away from their parents and sat down smoothly.

He slid into the seat across from her in awkward silence as she carefully placed the donut down, seemingly inspecting it. The way her lips curled up and her brows furrowed nearly made him laugh as he realized that she _was_ inspecting the donut.

"What?" she snapped at him once she noticed the light laughter in his eyes.

"Nothing," he quickly stated, but the amusement didn't leave him.

"It looks nothing like a bear's claw. Honestly, you Americans have the oddest names for things," she huffed out.

He wanted to groan. Were all girls as confusing as she was? And what did she mean 'you Americans?' Sure she talked funny, but that doesn't mean she had to go and insult everything. "Sure it does! See, here's its paw," he pointed at the center before moving up to the smaller portions that stuck out at the top, "and that's its claw."

"It's distorted and an inaccurate interpretation of a bear's claw, therefore its name is inaccurate."

John blinked. "It's what?"

Miranda sighed and mumbled something that sounded very much like "idiot American boy." His eyes narrowed.

"If you don't want it, I'll take it." He reached over; offended that she would insult his favorite treat.

"No! It's mine. _I _paid for it!" She slid the donut closer to her with a huff, but John could have sworn that he saw a ghost of a smile on her face.

"Only because you didn't let me!"

"You refused to be the gentleman, so _I_ had to act."

"What? What does that even mean? Let me have it!"

"No!"

"Give it!"

"Get your grimy hands away from me!"

"I washed my hands today!"

"_Once_ does not count!"

"Sure it does! Now give it!"

During their whole exchange, John and tried unsuccessfully to take back the donut; Miranda was surprisingly fast as she slid the donut across the table and away from his reach. It wasn't until John's stomach grumbled that the two stopped their bickering and glanced at one another.

"Fine. I'll split it with you." Miranda finally relented as she ripped the donut in half and handed it to him on a separate napkin.

John grinned widely, feeling oddly happy. "Thanks!"

Miranda grinned back, causing a warm, fluttering feeling to tickle the insides of his stomach.


	4. Chapter 4 - Heartbeat

**Author's Note: Happy Thanksgiving! I'm grateful for all of you that have read, followed, favorited, and especially reviewed this story. And I am also grateful that TheSneakyFox has helped beta this story. So thanks! In any case, without further ado, I present the next chapter! Let me know what you think about it! **

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Heartbeat**

The smell of musky grass and dirt wafted into John's nose as he gripped the handrail before him to gain a better view of the track. His stomach was filled with delight as he watched the horses speed passed him in a rushed flurry. The announcer's voice blared on the speakers but it was drowned out by the wild commotion of spectators and vendors alike. John leaned further into the rail, trying to follow the horses as they raced toward the other side of the track. He was glad his mother managed to gain a small holiday with him; she had been so busy with the Navy since they moved to Australia that they rarely spent time with one another anymore. He treasured these small moments.

His eyes continued to follow the current horse in eighth. His mother had asked him to root for a horse and he had chosen that one because its name had made her laugh. John had also liked it because it was an overlooked by the other horses. His eyes continued to watch as Let's Elope raced faster and steadily gained a position away from the clustered pack as she moved up to fifth spot. He cheered loudly, leaning out more in his enthusiasm; he would remain faithful to his horse.

"John, be careful." John turned at his mother's voice, giving her a quick, sheepish nod of obedience before they returned to watching the race. His mother sat on the seat behind him while he was lucky enough to stand near the railing for a better view.

His attention returned to the track when a large, excited wave of gasps and hollers filled the air. He watched as the horse he was rooting for was picking up its pace from its position on the outside and slipped passed the front cluster of horses as it drew nearer to the leader.

"Go!" John urged the horse to win with a shout. Frantic anticipation filled him as he watched Let's Elope speed pass the top three leaders and gain the lead. "Go, go, go!" He continued to yell as the mare continued to stretch the distance behind her. The fluttering sensation in his gut continued to grow as he realized that his chosen horse was about to win. He had been worried at first, seeing that she had started in the back, but he quickly pushed it aside when he saw how determined and diligent she was to remain in the race. His smile grew wider as she passed the finish line in a blur, eliciting a roar from the crowd, jarring John's eardrums; he had never won anything before. With a happy heart, he hurried back to his mother to tell her the good news.

Upon his arrival, he found his mother speaking with a nervous Petty Officer. He instantly noted her stern frown.

"Mom?" he questioned as he noticed the scarred man next to the officer.

"John, it looks like I need to make a call to the base." He was secretly glad that she made no attempt to hide her displeasure about the news; a grin nearly formed on John's face at the Petty Officer's subtle abashment. "Petty Officer Sachs and Mr. Massani will keep you company until I get back, okay?" She knelt before him. "Be good for me, John. I promise after this, we'll have the rest of the day together, all right?"

"Yes, Mom," John replied before getting a kiss on his cheek. He felt his face grow bright red from embarrassment. He couldn't believe she did that! _Especially_ in front of people. "Mom!" John whined and quickly tried to rid himself of the kiss; he hated getting kisses!

"You'll live, kiddo." She winked at him as she stood. Her steely green eyes casted over to the Petty Officer. "Keep him safe." John nearly rolled his eyes at the seriousness in her mother's voice; she was always so over-protective. But he had to admit she was scary sometimes – and apparently Petty Officer Sachs thought so too by the sudden pale complexion he now wore.

"Yes! Yes, Ma'am! Of course, Ma'am," he spluttered. "He'll be safe! I'll won't—"

"Easy, lad, don't get your knickers in a twist." A gravelly voice reverberated behind John, causing him to flinch as he remembered the other man; he had been too focused on the Petty Officer. "She's just messing with you – not really."

"Massani, make sure that he behaves." John peeked over to the Petty Officer, not sure if his mother was referring to him or the officer.

"You, John." A thin smile appeared on his mother's lips. "No wandering." She playfully warned before heading off into the depths of the stadium. John pouted; he did not wander around…much.

"Come on, squirt." The scarred-eyed-man – Massani – patted John on the shoulder, jostling him a bit as they began to move. John immediately recalled seeing him on base once with Mr. Lawson and wondered what he was doing here. "I think they've gotten most of the horses back in their stalls. You wanna look at them?"

"You mean I can see Let's Elope?" John's mood insistently lifted at the prospect – eyes wide and mouth shaped in a broadening grin.

"Sure thing, 'course we gotta make sure we're not in the way of the handlers as they bring her in." Massani let loose a smile that radiated friendliness and John decided that he liked him.

"Wait…Sir…we…can't...Commander Shepard is not goin—sir!" John wanted to laugh at how the seaman was clamoring behind them as they headed toward the stables; he must be really scared of his mom.

"Bah, she told us to watch the kid, not bore him to death! Besides, they were both gonna get a tour later, anyways." Massani continued to steer them passed the mass of people and toward the stables. John's senses were overloaded with the sheer amount of people and activities that flickered about him; men and women alike rushing to the ticket booths to claim their winnings; vendors scrambling to sell the last of their merchandise; reporters bustling about on the track as they interviewed and pictured the top three winners.

It wasn't long until they reached the stables. John wrinkled his nose briefly to get over the wafting smell of horses and manure; the sharp smell was soon forgotten as excitement took over as John viewed the many horses that were being led into their respective stalls.

"Mr. Massani, I don't advise that we go closer; Commander Shepard was adamant about keeping the boy safe…and well, what if they kick or something?"

John rolled his eyes along with Massani. That guy worried way too much.

"Ignore him, kid. He's been stuck in the office for too long. Office lights fried his brain." Massani winked at John. "They're horses, Sachs, not some crazed giant bug-eyed creatures that shoot laser beams from their eyes."

John blinked, trying to process the image that Mr. Massani placed in his head. That would be creepy, but strangely fun to face if he was some sort of superhero. He glanced askance to Petty Officer Sachs and could instantly tell that the officer didn't like the idea. Mr. Massani was right – this guy was boring.

"Mr. Massani." Petty Officer Sachs took a deep breath, a gesture John recognized as an attempt to maintain his composure. "This is serious!"

"Don't be a pussy."

"I am an officer of the Navy! Commander Shepard is my commanding officer and if she says to—"

"A damn pussy, that's what!"

John's eyes widened at the language; his mom had specifically told him not to use that type of language and he hoped – for Mr. Massani's safety – that his mom never found out about Mr. Massani's language.

"Mr. Massani, you are missing—"

"Freakin' boy scout. You remind me of the time I was—"

"No! No more stories!" Petty Officer Sachs tried to hold up his hands in protest, but they were ignored as Mr. Massani began some story or another. John quickly had lost interest in the two men, for his eyes were focused on a horse that was stationed in the far end stall. Glancing back once, John wandered off to the horse, curious and excited to view the beast up close.

Ignoring the bickering behind him, John snuck off. Nearing the end stall, he spotted a beautiful black horse further inside the stables. Making a quick decision, he wandered out of his chaperones' sights until he was in front of a rather large stall with an even larger horse inside. He had never seen one up close before. The horse snorted softly, enticing John to step up closer, his height tiny compared to the large wooden gate. He spotted a small piece of wood protruding near the gate's bottom hinges and decided to use it as an easy lift for a more proper viewing of the horse.

"What the hell are you doing?" A nasally voiced startled John, making him grip the wooden plank before him else risk falling back. "You're not supposed to be here."

Loosening his grip, John jumped back down, bummed out that he wasn't able to see the horse properly. He turned and couldn't help but glare at the older boy that had appeared. He remained silent, unable to shake the uneasy feeling he got from looking at the taller boy.

"What's your problem, kid?" John tensed as he noticed how the scrappy-looking brunette took a threatening step forward. "I asked you a question."

"I'm just looking," John replied, feeling less confident than he hoped he was appearing; he didn't like bullies.

"You're not supposed to be here – scram." Another step brought them closer.

"Mr. Massani said I can be here."

"Ooh, so we got ourselves a spoiled rich brat." The bully sneered out, giving John an unsettling feeling that was throwing warning bells in his head. He had no idea what this older boy's problem was with him, but it looked like he wanted to fight.

"I'm not. I just want to look at the horses." John watched his opponent carefully, trying to keep his voice even so he wouldn't get hit; John knew he was much smaller than him – he was actually smaller than a lot of the other kids his age.

"Whatever, I know your type – think you rule the world and all that; Mr. High and Mighty." Another step closer. "These aren't pretty little things you can just look at because you think you deserve it; they're not some pet that you can have paraded around. Now, scram." He now hovered above John's head, making him feel incredibly nervous, but a stubborn part of him stood his ground. Who was this bully to judge him like that? He didn't know anything about him. He didn't know anything at all. He may be small, but his Dad had taught him how to use his fists.

"Mr. Massani said I can look at them," he repeated with as much determination he could manage.

"Damn, rich kid." His hands came up too quickly before John could register it. John grunted as he felt the pain throb into his back. The horse behind him neighed uncomfortably as John realized that he had been pushed hard into the horse's stall.

"Get out of here." The nasally snarled out.

"Niket." A firm, but steady – if a bit heavenly – voice rang in John's ears as he slowly regained his footing.

"Miri!" The boy – Niket – backed away from him; John spotted a small twinge of fear on his surprised face as they both turned to see Miranda _glaring_. John gulped, understanding the fear that Niket suddenly had.

"What are you doing?"

"I, uh, well, just…" Niket let loose a nervous chuckle as John looked on, trying to figure out not only why the boy disliked him, but why his heart seemed to feel smooshed and hot all at once. "…I thought I should introduce myself to Kai Lang and…"

Miranda's lips twitched unhappily. "Does he look like a Kai Lang to you, Niket?"

"What?" Niket's eyes darted over to John, making him shift uncomfortably when Miranda's eyes landed on him as well. A lengthy pause surrounded them, and John offhandedly wondered where Mr. Massani and Petty Officer Sachs were. "You mean…that's not the spoiled rich twat that you were supposed…" He trailed off when Miranda developed a full-fledged frown. "…oh…"

"You owe John an apology." Miranda leaned to one side and folded her arms, staring at Niket expectedly.

"Ah…um…" Niket gave John an apologetic smile. "Sorry…I thought you were someone else." He mumbled as he turned away in embarrassment.

John blinked, unsure how to process everything; it all happened rather quickly. "It's okay." He mumbled back.

"Right…yeah."

"Niket, go tend to Father's horse, please." Miranda glanced at her strange friend before settling her eyes back on John. A tingle vibrated along his spine.

"Right," he repeated before hastening away and allowing John to exhale a breath. He hadn't realized he was so tense.

"I'm sorry about Niket." Miranda took a confident step toward him. "He's actually very kind, if a bit over-protective."

Stupid too. John had thought, but refrained from sharing. How could that boy think he was some Asian kid? "It's okay." He supplied instead, trying to figure out why he felt so anxious and nervous around Miranda. True, it had only been a year since they last saw one another at that donut shop, but he didn't think he would be so nervous in seeing her again.

"No, it's not. Niket knows better and he shouldn't have done that."

"Mmm." John shrugged, trying to remain neutral since Niket seemed to be a close friend to Miranda.

"Did you want to see him?" Miranda nodded over to the horse in the stall.

John nodded his head and Miranda graced him with an overwhelming smile. "He loves visitors, the vain creature he is," she remarked playfully before clucking her tongue. The horse made a shrilling snort before hefting his large head over the stall's gate. "He is one of my favorites here; too bad he didn't win." Miranda sighed as she gently petted the horse's nose. The sight caused John to smile as he went on his toes to gently pet the horse too.

"Maybe next time?" John attempted to comfort.

"Maybe." Miranda repeated as her gaze settled on the horse before her.

The two stood comfortably together as they enjoyed the presence of the large black stallion. John's heart had calmed since Miranda had first appeared, but the warmth in his chest and belly was ever prominent as he continued to sneak glances over at her.

"Why is he your favorite?" John tentatively asked, afraid of breaking the quiet serenity they had created. He noticed Miranda furrow her brow for brief moment, as if deciding something.

"My mother bred his sire, before selling him off," she muttered before concentrating more on the stallion.

John tilted his head curiously, wondering what she meant by sire, before noticing that familiar pained glint in her eyes. He glanced down at his feet, recalling those first few weeks when he lost his dad. The pain wasn't as noticeable anymore, but it was still there – a constant throb in his heart.

"Does it ever get better?" John found himself asking as his other hand lightly touched his chest. He froze, fearing that he had overstepped his boundaries.

A deadly silence stretched for what seemed like eons to John. He dared not look at Miranda for fear of offending her, so continued to absently stroke the stallion as he stared at his shoes.

"Some days."

John's head snapped up too quickly, mildly twisting his neck as he did his best to process the quiet whisper. He wasn't expecting that answer. Everyone else had kept telling him the pain would go away in time. His mom said it would get better in time. But, he was still waiting. So it was refreshing for him to hear Miranda's honest response, especially when it reflected his own.

"Yeah…" He managed out as he tried to read Miranda's expression. She was looking at him strangely, enough to make his heartbeat speed up. He had no idea what that look was. They held one another's eyes before a rapid shuffling of feet ended the trance.

"Miri. Your dad wants you." Niket appeared again, breaking up the quiet peace. He eyed John with a suspicious glare before turning back to Miranda. "They're done with the winner's pictures."

"Ah, okay," Miranda replied before turning back to face John again. "It's good to see you again." Miranda added as she backed away from the horse and John. He merely stared, unsure of what to say. Of course it was great to see her again; the comment had just taken him off guard. "You still owe me a donut." She smirked before giving him a wave of goodbye. "You better pay up soon."

"Uh, yeah." John replied. That odd tingle was back and it was growing the more Miranda's eyes turned to him.

"Good. I'll see you soon, then, shall I?"

"Uh huh." John sounded out as Miranda gave a final wave before disappearing. His heartbeat drumming louder than ever.

* * *

The chilled night air sent an involuntary shiver through John's body, forcing him to slouch as he continued to steal the heat from the hot chocolate in his hands. He glanced over at Miranda, making sure that she looked warm enough as they sat on his patio's brick railing; she sat against a pillar, bundled up in a sweater and quilt with her legs curled under her as she stared out into the starry night, her own hot chocolate warming her hands.

John adjusted his stance against the railing before taking a welcomed warm sip from his drink. He was glad that they were now back to normal – that awkward tension now gone (along with the donuts) – and were now simply enjoying one another's company. Although, John couldn't shake the feeling that he had missed some grand or opportune moment. He scrunched up his face, reflecting about their earlier scuffle. One particular detail kept creeping to the forefront of his mind: Miranda's undiscernible expression. Of all the years he had known her, he had _never_ seen that look before, but it had sent a rush of heat throughout his whole body that made the hot chocolate seem comparably cold. The face she made _looked _very similar to her usual glances, but more…intense. Could it be that she felt something deeper for him? A cold draft tinkled his senses. John mentally shook his head. Impossible. Miranda didn't feel that way toward him. How could she? She had made it unknowingly clear all those years ago. Besides, Miranda was getting married; she loved Jacob.

John snuck another glance at Miranda, enjoying her serene gaze out into the darkness. A relaxed smile settled on his lips as he recalled his first memory of her sneaking over to his house all those years ago. He nearly had a panic attack in his sleep-induced haze when he saw her face through his bedroom window. His grin broadened in amusement.

"What's with the smile?" Miranda's voice mimicked how he felt.

"Nothing," John replied with a shrug. "I was just remembering the first time you knocked on my window."

Miranda's eyes brightened into mischievousness. "Ah, I remember." A sly smile formed next. "Your squeal earlier was almost an exact replica of the one you made that night."

John guffawed. "I don't squeal!"

"A highly pitched girlish sound then." Miranda tried to reason with a failed seriousness.

"All lies!" He gestured to himself with a determined expression. "I have you know, I am the epitome of a manly man." He did his best to withhold his laughter. "I make manly yells, not girlish squeals," he stated in all seriousness before Miranda's expression made him burst into laughter; she was desperately trying to remain stoic as her eyes crinkled in laughter.

"Yes," she laughed, unable to hold it any longer, "you're a bloody perfect human specimen."

"Oh yes, that sounded convincing." John rolled his eyes, trying to not sound too put out about her comment. He knew she was just teasing, but it still stung a little.

"Oh, don't give me that face. You are, John, I just find it funny that you just don't know what to do with all that manliness half the time." She nestled herself further under the blanket as they quieted down. John merely snorted at the comment, still a bit peeved. "I hope this doesn't change." Miranda's whisper permeated the silence as she stared at a small patch of fireflies.

"Hmm?" John turned to face her more fully, wondering what she meant. "That you think I'm a perfect specimen?" He let loose a crooked grin.

Miranda's cheeks burned red. "Oh, someone is cocky. No," she gestured between the two of them with a free hand, "this. I don't want this to end."

"It won't." John tried to assure, but he knew that they both knew differently. Miranda was getting married. And it wasn't the first time a big change had happened to them.

"You say that. I just wish it were true." she sighed out. "Did you know today is our anniversary?" She nervously scratched her collarbone.

John furrowed his brow, thinking upon the date. It was. They had met exactly twenty-four years ago. He had been so caught up with work today that he had forgotten (especially since he had nearly just walked in his door about an hour ago). That would explain the late night donut run, not that he minded; Miranda was used to announcing herself at his door whenever she felt like it. It was sweet that she would do that, even though it reminded him of his Dad, but he didn't mind: Miranda made him feel again, and he would celebrate that with her any day. "Yeah," he replied, recalling the day they met.

"Did you call your mum?" she asked, breaking his thoughts.

"Yeah. Last week. I wanted to go visit her and Dad's grave, but she wanted me to stay here." John nodded briefly as his thoughts glazed over the thought of his Father – his anniversary was just last week – and his mother. She had refused his attempt to come home, citing that she wanted a different ring on Miranda's finger and that wouldn't happen if he visited now. The thought made him want to blush and groan at the same time.

He sighed as his attention drifted to the Navy. No matter how hard he tried, something always brought his mind back to it; the occupational hazard of having grown up around and in it. And right now, the Navy reminded him of that burden in his jacket pocket. His eyes darted over to Miranda. He feared that he would have to tell her soon.

"That's good; she was nagging at me to get you to call more often." She granted him a charming smile, halting his immediate plan to tell her the news. It was their anniversary after all, and he would hate to ruin the peaceful atmosphere and that smile. "She was telling me that we need to visit her more." John tried not to grouse at his mother's implication. "In any case, I'm glad we've managed to stay friends for all these years."

John smiled; he was grateful for that as well. They've had many trials and hardships over the years, but though it all they managed to stay close despite the many incidents trying to tear them apart. However, he felt that unsettling rock drop inside his gut as the letter came back into his thoughts. "Me too."

"To our anniversary?" Miranda happily – if a bit tentatively – questioned, toasting her hot chocolate at John.

He tilted a teasing smirk toward Miranda, masking the dread by stuffing it away with the other buried emotions he had for Miranda and his future. "You're a bit late, aren't you?" He tapped his own drink against Miranda's and chugged the last of it.

Miranda scoffed. "A few hours; be bloody thankful that I got out of my hospital shift when I did, else I wouldn't even be here right now." She stretched her arms out before settling back into her cozy abode. "So bask in my presence."

A wry smile appeared on his lips as his nerves began to nag at him to tell Miranda. He should tell her – get it over with – before it blows up in his face like the first time.

"What's wrong?"

_Damn Miranda and her knack of reading him_.

"Miri…there's…there's something I should tell you…" John fumbled out, trying to figure out the best approach that garnished the least amount of yelling. He opened his mouth, not sure what was going to escape it.

_**RINGGGG! **_

"Oh, God, sorry." Miranda scrambled to mute the phone in her pocket. She glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes.

John let out a breath of relief? He wasn't sure, but Miranda's annoyed look piqued his curiosity, and allowed him to stall the inevitable onslaught of yelling and name-calling for a moment longer. "Who is it?"

"Jacob. Probably wondering where I'm at." She muted the ring and placed the phone back into her sweater pocket. "I'll talk to him later."

"Miranda…" John reprimanded gently, despite the small sick glee he received from Miranda's flippant attitude toward her fiancé.

"I'll call back later." She repeated. "You're more important," she replied without thinking.

John couldn't help the broad grin that formed on his face.

"Oh, there you go, cocky ego has appeared once more." She cleared her throat and John could _clearly_ spot the blush on her cheeks. His smile widened from her embarrassment.

"Can't help it – you love me." He teased, feeling that natural happy flow generate between them once more, with a sprinkle of sadness.

She shook her head at him, but the smile still played on her features as she turned to glance out into the darkness. "Yeah, I do. So don't do anything stupid."

"No promises."

"Arse," she muttered, burrowing herself further into the blankets to avoid his verbal jests. "Now, what were you trying to tell me?"

The dread came flooding back.

_Damn it. It looked like this was still happening. _

_**Ding!**_

Miranda groaned as her phone announced a text message.

"Jacob?" John attempted to keep the annoyance from leaking out.

"Yes." Miranda scrunched her face as she read the text. "He's just trying to figure out where I'm at since I left the hospital. Honestly…" she muttered before typing back. "At John's. Don't wait up." She repeated as she wrote. "I swear he's been absolutely attached since _that_ woman came; trying to make me into some doting daughter-in-law." She almost hissed out. "And you and I both know that I don't do attached well."

_Except you're getting married in a few days._ John bit the inside of his cheek before he let his uncensored thoughts run amuck in the open. He forced himself to concentrate on her words. Ah. _That_ woman. "You're not avoiding his mother, are you?" He tilted his head at her, wondering if she was using him as an excuse. Not that he minded.

"No." She glared at him; the are-you-seriously-asking-me-John-glare. "I would never use you as an excuse. Jacob doesn't seem to understand. We may be engaged, but that does not mean that I have to stop seeing my best friend." Her voice and posture sounded and looked confident and sure, but John could see the uncertainty in her eyes – like she was feeling guilty about something. "He needs to realize that you're an important part in my life."

"He has a problem with me?" John resisted the urge to hackle at the implication.

"No…not you…just…" She groaned. "It's silly, really. He just noted that we've spend a lot of time together, that's all. I think _that_ woman is insinuating something, which is making him try that much harder to show her that we're some perfect couple."

"Well, I am a perfect human specimen," he deadpanned.

"Arse," she repeated playfully. "It's just been annoying as of late – nothing I can't handle, however, if this _leash_ of his develops further…" She trailed off with a darkened distant burden in her eye. John instantly knew that look and quickly scrambled for a change of topic.

"How was work today?" he asked, remembering that she mentioned she had just left the hospital. He placed his finished drink aside and folded his arms across his chest to conserve his warmth.

"It's fine." She shrugged, letting a corner of the quilt to fall down one shoulder as she instantly granted him a smile for the change of focus. John's eyes followed the movement before glancing back up at Miranda's face. "Though I rather remain in the R&amp;D department, being able to help people in the moment, well, may be challenging at some times, but I found myself enjoying it more and more." Her eyes flitted to John's chest – at his heart. "I'm glad I chose this path…I…" Her jaw clenched and John instantly knew what she was thinking – blaming herself – about.

_Well…that was wonderful…so much for trying to get her thoughts out of the past. Good job there, John_.

"Hey, I thought we talked about this; I'm okay," he assured her as he motioned to give her hug; the need for that familiar contact was written on her face. "It's working fine; you've made it better than it was before."

Miranda curled into him the moment he approached, burrowing her head and arms onto his chest. She shook her head into him as she pressed a palm against his heart. John's heartbeat trilled. "I can't help thinking if I hadn't been there…"

"But you were; by whatever miracle you were, Miri. You need to stop thinking about this; my heart is fine," he whispered, welcoming the warmth that she provided him.

She shook her head again. "You have no idea what it was like seeing you like that…after so many years – with that shrapnel so close to your heart – and after that fight we had." John felt a violent shudder course through him and instantly knew that Miranda was fighting back a sob. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"Miri…hey," he gently lifted her head to face him – red rimmed eyes greeted him, "do you feel that?" he questioned her as he then gently placed his hand atop the one that was settled against his pounding heart, "It's beating. It's beating because of you. Always for you. Don't think that will ever change." He admitted, feeling that familiar tension from before rise as their eye connected powerfully.

There. _There_ it was again. _That_ look. John didn't know what to make of it, but his whole body was going on a rampage the moment he registered the _leaning_.


End file.
